Page 25 of What's Left of Me

“Laugh.”

He didn’t speak for a beat, and I waited him out. “I was watching because Aziza said I needed to remember what I loved, that if I were any of the thingshe’dtold me I was, I’d have never been chosen to dance for these shows.”

“That Aziza is smart.”

He snorted. “It’s harder than I thought.”

“How so?”

He sighed and motioned to the tablet. “I used to watch my performances afterward, accept the minor critiques—which, honestly, by showtime I rarely had any. I was confident, believed in my art. I’d done it since I was a toddler, for Christ’s sake. But as I sat here watching this, all I could hear was his voice, how not perfect it is, how pitied I am…how stupid any of this is.”

I tossed the tablet aside and took his hand in mine. It was odd; I wasn’t sure why I did it, but I waited until he looked at me.

“It’s easier to believe the bad parts of ourselves than the good. Once we say, yeah, I’m great at that, society adjusts the cogs to make us feel conceited. We yearn to be the best inside and out, and well, it takes a little pull for the whole sweater to unravel but a long-ass time to knit it.”

He chuckled. “That’s deep.”

“It’s true. I’m great at computers, hacking, and digging. I’ve been encouraged my whole life to embrace what I’m good at. I don’t know what would happen if someone took me from all of this and spent twenty-four-seven with me, telling me why I’m not. That’s what happened to you, but it doesn’t make it true. It makeshimjealous, less than, and you will figure that out when you’re ready.”

“I don’t want to feel like this.”

“That’s why you’ll beat it. It’s why you’ll overcome it, Phoenix.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes. The house was quiet, and while it could be awkward, it wasn’t. He never let go of my hand and when I looked over at one point, his cheek was pressed to the back of the couch and he was fast asleep, still clutching my hand.

“Missing person.”Nick entered my bedroom. I was relaxing after dinner and a shower, deciding to get to bed early since I was deep-diving into the dark web the next day, which always sucked the life out of me.

“When?” I sat up and grabbed the picture Nick was holding.

“An hour ago the report was filed, came across Rose’s desk.”

One glance at the photo and I knew exactly what Nick was thinking. “He looks almost exactly like Phoenix.”

Nick nodded. “Yeah. It’s creepy.”

The missing man was twenty-three, almost the same age as Phoenix, brown hair cut almost identical to how it was when he’d been found. Hazel eyes, five foot eight, a dancer at a local ballet company.

“Do you think it’s a message?” I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what was happening here.

“Or a replacement. If he holds so little regard for his dolls, wouldn’t he just get a new one?”

That wasn’t jiving. “No, I’d think the opposite. When someone is obsessed with something, a replacement will never be enough. Have you contacted Aziza?”

“Left her a text, and she said she’d be over in the morning.”

“Okay.” I handed him the photo. “Don’t tell Phoenix yet. We need to talk to her; I feel like he’s making progress. I don’t want to be the reason he declines.”

Nick smiled his stupid smile. “You liiiiike him.”

“Fuck you, and get out.”

“You wanna kiiiiiiiiiiiss him.”

“If you don’t leave my room in two seconds I’ll tell Matt you hid his underwear this morning because you wanted easy access to him at the library, you perv.”

His eyes widened. “I hate you.”

I grinned as if I’d won the lottery. “Shoo now.”

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